


Prefect Duties

by cinereous



Category: Bully (Video Games)
Genre: Fighting As Foreplay, M/M, Oral Sex, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:41:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24580984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinereous/pseuds/cinereous
Summary: Gord had taken the position of prefect because he was weak to flattery and it would look good on his college applications. At the time, he had not realized just how much of a social death sentence it was really going to end up being, but there was at least one student who didn't seem to be actively avoiding him.
Relationships: Jimmy Hopkins/Gord Vendome
Comments: 6
Kudos: 41
Collections: Little Black Dress Exchange 2020





	Prefect Duties

**Author's Note:**

  * For [franchouchou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/franchouchou/gifts).



> Thank you so much to [habenaria_radiata](https://archiveofourown.org/users/habenaria_radiata/profile) who beta read this work for me!

Bullworth Academy _smelled_.

The main school building’s halls hung heavy with the scent of rotting food. There was something about expired meat cooking that could follow you for the rest of your day, and there was always a layer of mystery casserole funk practically baked into the walls. To say nothing of the hundreds of shriveling apples and banana peels tossed here and there throughout the building. All of that lived under the more vibrant and ever changing stink of the student body. Sweat and body odor mixed with layer upon layer of body spray until every step you took was little more than clawing your way through different climate zones named after Axe fragrances.

Open lockers puffed forth clouds of old books, mildew, and hundred year old Valentine’s day chocolates. Some even had the added benefit of raining cheese curls onto the linoleum. The bathrooms at the end of the hall radiated dangerous smelling chemicals, and the top floor positively reeked of wood varnish and glass cleaner.

It was truly no wonder why Gord volunteered to take his prefect duties outside. 

As if he could stomach to spend his final year cramped inside of that hell hole! He had paid his dues to this disgusting place, year after year attending uninformative classes and putting up with the likes of the greasers and the bullies with their stained, untucked shirts.

Freedom was so close he could _taste_ it, like champagne or a scotch older than his grandfather. Though it was beginning to taste more and more bitter and unsavory as the weeks marched by, more like cheap beer. Out of a funnel.

What Bullworth had in local prestige, old money, and snobbery...it lacked in academics. The others didn’t seem to mind. Their goals all centered around taking over the family business or going into politics after having their way bought into the ivy leagues. There was so much discussion about fraternities in Harrington House these days that Gord was always minutes away from flying into a fit.

His ‘family’ business was law. His father was a highly respected divorce lawyer with the bank account to match, but unlike the rest of the who’s who at the school, being a lawyer required _actually_ being good at school, even if you didn’t have to pay for it. 

What had once been simply boredom and curiosity that fueled him through school, now he had a driving need to do well on his test scores. Something nobody else seemed to care about. It was alienating to be the only damned prep in the library. Twice so when bug eyed, greasy haired nerds stared at him like a frog specimen in the science lab while the odd mouse skittered across his shoes under the table. 

And there was _nothing_ unmanly about screaming over mice. 

To say this rather abrupt shift in focus and priorities had ruined his impeccable love life was a nightmarish understatement. He had discovered last year the joys of bedding a woman, and here he was in his prime, wasting away inside of a tatty blue blazer and staring at the pond scum buildup around the bull fountain.

He had taken the position of prefect because he was weak to flattery and it would look good on his college applications. At the time, he had not realized just how much of a social death sentence it was really going to end up being. None of the girls (or even the boys) would come near him anymore. Which was really just their loss. He was aging like a fine wine, thank you very much. He had shot up a few inches the past few years, and his features had settled into something quite handsome, if he did say so himself. He’d even figured out how to style his hair to minimize the size of his ears, and if they couldn’t appreciate that even with some stuffy authority forced upon him then they were the losers.

There was _one_ student who didn’t seem to be actively avoiding him, or living in fear of him, but it was hardly a surprise. Jimmy Hopkins viewed authority like some people looked at cobwebs; ugly, unwanted, and in. His. Way. He batted away rules, teachers, prefects, and even street signs without a thought.

The social hierarchy of the school had shifted here and there since the fateful year Hopkins had arrived. It was still an unspoken agreement among all the student body that Hopkins was the ‘king’ of the school. He’d had younger students try to usurp him, certainly, but they never lasted long. He’d always had a knack for squashing out rebellion by brute force. It was what Gord had always found so attractive about him.

It should embarrass him, really, how his crush had lingered. In the thick of all the power changes, Gord had been enthralled. He’d learned a lot about himself that year, what with Lola and Jimmy. And what he had learned was that he liked someone unabashed and wild, prone to throw their weight around and eager to pay him compliments. Gord could admit he had a _type_.

And his type was walking this way. _Shit_.

Gord stood up straighter lightning fast, his brows lifting in an affected look of mild interest even while his heart thrummed like a hummingbird in his chest. 

It was a crime how Hopkins had grown into himself. Two years ago he was just a short and stocky boy in baggy clothes that looked like trash bags. There always seemed to be a smudge on his face and dirt under his fingernails. Even when he’d worn Aquaberry for that brief stint, he’d worn it wrinkled and untucked like a complete barbarian.

Not to say he wasn’t _still_ a dirty ruffian. He absolutely was. Now, however, he was taller, and the cinderblock stockiness had morphed into the sort of muscular body that the jocks would be jealous of. He was all shoulders and arms, his tatty clothes constantly under threat of bursting at the seams.

And then there was his face. Gord had thought he looked a bit like a near-sighted mole rat during their first meeting, but that was probably his offended ego talking after the boy had so abruptly turned him down and ignored him. Gord didn’t exactly handle rejection well.

Now it was far easier to admire him. He still squinted and glared at the world, and he was still covered in too many freckles to count, but the baby fat had melted away to leave behind a jaw sharp enough to cut him in half, and a scowl so kissable he should be able to give it detention just for existing.

Suffice to say that his small and harmless crush at fifteen had blossomed into a very hungry and intense attraction at seventeen. He’d touched himself to the idea of being shoved down and straddled on the sun-hot asphalt of the parking lot so many times that he was shocked he hadn’t gone blind yet.

Jimmy was blessedly ignorant to his inner thoughts, marching towards the gym wearing an off-color white t-shirt that, judging by the tight fit, was likely very old, and a pair of ratty, dirt stained jeans that fit baggy and odd on his frame. It was definitely the sort of thing he could give him detention for if he was feeling particularly brutal.

If his gang of friends was there with him, they would be snickering and insulting the outfit, and Gord may have even joined them. But he was alone and bored and dying for attention.

“Well helloooo there,” he catcalled, feeling a jolt of giddy excitement spiral through him when Jimmy actually stopped and looked back in his direction with furrowed brows. He was still so clueless, still so paranoid that every word in his direction was the start of a fight. Gord couldn’t even blame him for that given his track record here. It made the smirk that bloomed deep and sexy on Jimmy’s face the next moment taste all the sweeter.

Jimmy altered his course abruptly, walking in his direction with his entire body language changed. There was a swagger to his step now, and Gord knew without having to ask or make a comment that Jimmy was in ‘king’ mode. He knew he owned this place and that Gord was very much part of his court. An apt comparison. He felt like he should be swooning behind a silk fan at this very moment, but he had his attention.

“Where are you off to looking so... aggressive,” he asks, falling into his most charming smile and hurrying to flick his hair into place. When was the last time he was nervous hitting on someone? It felt like an almost abstract concept when he was as good looking, rich, and well dressed as he was, but this time around his stomach was in steamy knots of anticipation and fear of rejection. This is what Jimmy Hopkins did to him.

Jimmy didn’t seem like he was nervous at all. That smirk lingered comfortably, and the late afternoon sun glinted off the fine dusting of hair along his head. Gord had fantasized about rubbing his fingers all along it. He’d felt his hair only once during a scuffle, and now he craved that soft, velveteen sensation all the time.

“That jock transfer Borden is messing with Pete. Guess none of his ‘roid monkey friends thought to tell him who that would piss off,” Jimmy explained, not sounding angry, but the threat in his words was so thinly veiled it may as well have been cling wrap.

It was easy to see the thrum of agitation to him now that was beyond his normal angry tantrum. The line of his shoulders was tense and gathered inward, and his face was calm as a lake, but his eyes were bubbling and simmering.

He wasn’t just looking for a fight. He was genuinely angry, and for some reason that burned all the butterflies in his stomach to ash, leaving only intense licking flames of pleasure behind.

“I’m glad I caught you then. I happen to know that Borden is in detention right now. How smart can you be to land detention in _this_ school, am I right?” Gord said, licking his lips and offering a smirk of his own. “I also happen to know he’ll be released in oh, another hour. I appear to be available, however, if you were in need of a distraction.”

He was so sure that Jimmy was going to punch him at first. His bubbling anger flared obviously over hearing that his query wasn’t available, but as he leaned forward, his voice dripping with intention, he could see his expression of anger morph into something hot and sharp and dazzling like barbed wire baking in the sun.

“I might be interested,” Jimmy told him, his voice shifting to flirtatious easily. He’d always been such a ham when it came to his conquests, but Gord absolutely loved it. Getting a fistful of flowering weeds from Jimmy had been the highlight of some of his days. There were no flowers thrust in his direction today, but that was alright. Whatever was brewing and churning between them right now was far, far better.

Which was why he felt every bone in his body go stiff and excited when Jimmy took a couple more steps forward and grabbed the lapel of his jacket in one large fist. Gord was absolutely prepared to get a fist to the face, but it never came.

Jimmy pulled him closer by his grip, all overly-confident smirk and predatory eyes. “Aren’t you on prefect duty right now?”

“Forgive me for being crass, but _fuck_ my prefect duty,” Gord laughed. It felt good to sink into such depraved language and intention. He’d been toeing the line of being an actual good student for so long now he’d forgotten just how much he got off on walking on the wild side like he’d done with Lola. Seeing the seedy underbelly of the world and kissing a girl his family would’ve hated made everything more exciting. That same thrill was rushing through his body now, familiar and exhilarating. “So...want to get out of here?”

Jimmy made a show of thinking it over, but inevitably rolled his eyes and reached down to grab his wrist. His hands were so _hot_ , rough with callouses and so strong. If Gord wanted to change his mind he wasn’t even sure he could wiggle out of this grip, not that he wanted to. He almost tripped over his own eager feet in his hurry to follow after him, heart thumping wildly in his chest.

They got looks through the whole walk. Of course they did. Gord was perfectly aware of what this looked like, but he strangely didn’t care. They rounded the main building and down the walkway towards the gates, but Gord was disappointed when Jimmy turned towards the boys’ dorm. Eugh. Did he really expect him to put out in _there_? Him and the boys had a running bet they urinated in the halls there.

“Hopkins…” he started, letting his disgust and disdain fill his mouth.

“It’s Jimmy. And don’t start. I wouldn’t dream of making you slum it _inside_ the dorm.”

His sarcasm was rude and unnecessary, but Gord wasn’t given much time to protest. He was dragged around the building to the back. It was nondescript and deserted back here save for a couple of dumpsters. The most shocking part of all was that it didn’t smell like garbage. It was like no one even seemed to have remembered there were trash cans back here at all.

He would have expected graffiti and empty beer cans to be littered around a place like this that was so accessible and hidden away, but it was almost like Jimmy was the only person who had decided it was worth exploring.

“You take me to the _nicest_ places,” Gord teased, exceptionally pleased when Jimmy pushed him up against the brick wall. It snagged at his hair and clothes, but he couldn’t pretend as if he didn’t like it. “Ooh, so rough. You really are a caveman, Hopkins.”

“ _Jimmy_ ,” he corrected with more bite this time around and an exasperated eye roll. Gord expected him to release his wrist now, but was thoroughly shocked when he only grabbed his other one and pressed them both into the brick on either side of his head instead. The wall was rough against his soft skin, but they were pressed close enough together that the boy’s body heat bled through his clothes. 

“Alright then, _Jimmy_ ” he whispered, letting his voice dip down into a sexy, deep tone that always seemed to drive Lola crazy when they were seeing one another. He drove the point home further by sliding his knee slowly between the other boy’s legs in very clear invitation. “I seem to be right where you want me.”

It did the trick. The next moment chapped, full lips were pressed insistently against his own with enough force to crack his head up against the brick. It was shameful how much pleasure he got just from goading and pleasing the same boy who had once enjoyed punching him not two years ago. But he supposed he had usually punched first. As far as he was concerned, the feeling of being pressed into a wall and kissed into a stupor felt like _winning_.

Jimmy kissed like he had something to prove. Even now, shoved impossibly close together and forced to stand on his toes to reach him, Jimmy was the best goddamned kiss he had ever experienced. Gord couldn’t even pretend to be unimpressed. He tipped his head to the side to perfect the seal of their mouths and gave into the persistent, wild tidal wave that was Jimmy Hopkins taking what he wanted, what he _deserved_.

The hands on his wrists went tighter and hotter with every passing second, and every too tight squeeze coupled with the obscene slide and tangle of his tongue sent searing bolts of pleasure down his spine. It didn’t matter that he was in the equivalent of a dirty alley. It didn’t matter that the kiss tasted like pizza drowned out by breath mints or that his wrists were released only to have his blazer practically ripped down his arms and tossed into a heap on the ground. His insides were hot enough to boil and his mind was a hazy roller coaster that only wanted to go faster.

“Fuck. This is so _dirty_ ,” he chuckled as Jimmy finally broke free for them to catch their breath. Gord was reduced to giddy sounding pants and a stupidly wide grin. “You can rescue me from prefect duty any time you want.”

Jimmy seemed pleased by that as well, offering a sharper sort of amused smile in response. His freckled cheeks were flushed bright with color already, and Gord could make out a sheen of sweat catching the light on his neck. He rather desperately wanted to lick it.

“Won’t Crabblesnitch get mad if you leave your watchdog post? I know how much you like to suck up,” Jimmy teased, but it was too late. The implication burned like a fresh slap to the face.

Gord glared and shoved his hands into Jimmy’s chest to force him away. His body was screaming in horror that he’d push away the boy that had just lit him on fire so effortlessly, but his pride was loud in his ears. In front of him, Jimmy was already falling into a scowl that somehow made the tightness in his stomach go even more taut amid his indignation.

“I don’t suck up. I don’t _need_ to. I earned my place,” he spat, angry and torn and wanting nothing more than to kiss Jimmy again, but unwilling to. He crouched down for his jacket, startled when he was stopped by the shorter boy gripping his fist into his cardigan and yanking him back up to his feet.

“Don’t kid yourself. _Daddy_ earned you your place.”

It was the absolute wrong thing to say to him in that moment. Not after the months of telling himself the same thing and looking at the future ahead of him while his friends acted like these were the best years of their lives. Jimmy always did have a particular knack for getting the world to turn against him just as easily as they loved him.

Gord shoved him again, this time relishing in hearing him clang up against the dumpster. The sound was so satisfying. He hadn’t had a fight since he was made prefect, and it felt _good_. Probably too good. He had a poor habit of running off at the mouth when he was mad, and now was no different.

He reached down a second time to grab his blazer and watched Jimmy get back to his feet looking weirdly hurt and confused despite the other, stormier emotions rushing across his features. It felt nice to have someone look at him like that...like maybe they were wrong. 

A smirk curled along his lips and Gord rolled his eyes. “Don’t be such a _girl_ ,” he tossed out, turning and intent to walk away. He had _standards_.

The change was instantaneous. Jimmy’s stormy scowl dove straight into a murderous glare, and he stalked forward, the gravel grinding loudly under his shoes. Gord had only a moment to admire just how much like an enraged bull he really looked before the shorter boy was on him.

The punch had the force of a fucking jackhammer. Gord was flung backwards, his head cracking against the brick and his vision plunging black for a split second. Pain lanced through his entire face and every nerve in his body went white with adrenaline while he scrabbled to catch himself from falling.

Fuck. Had Jimmy always punched this hard?

The taste of blood flooded his mouth, and Gord slowly stood up straight again, brushing his hand against his mouth. The cut against his lower lip stung and his hand came away slick and red. Jimmy stood there before him, his big shoulders rising and falling with his angry breaths and his eyes drilling holes into his skin.

What had he said to set him off that badly? Why was he so angry? 

Why was he so _hot_?

The moment stretched out between them, enraged electricity and unsaid words crackling through the air. Neither of them could seem to decide what emotions they wanted to settle on. Gord could feel as much as see Jimmy’s eyes on his busted lip, and Gord couldn’t help but feel like a wounded swimmer in the water with a shark.

But fuck did he want to get bitten.

He jerked forward on still shaking legs, reaching out to grab Jimmy’s face to haul him closer only to find him already halfway there.

The kiss this time around was ravenous and brutal. Every single brush of their lips stung and stretched at the cut, and all he could taste was blood and lust so thick and powerful he could choke on it. Jimmy shoved him into the wall, boxing him in, squeezing out all the space between them, but Gord didn’t care.

He finally had the pleasure of running his fingers along Jimmy’s closely shorn hair. It felt like sun drenched velvet against his fingertips, and when he scraped his nails down his scalp to the damp skin at the nape of his neck Jimmy _growled_ into their kiss like a rabid dog. 

His prefect blazer tangled around their feet, stepped on and forgotten in the blinding heat of the moment. God, Jimmy’s shirt was damp with sweat, sticking to his skin, and instead of being disgusted Gord just wanted to rip it off him.

Roughly calloused hands shoved under his own cardigan, viciously untucking the button down beneath it until blisteringly hot palms were pressed against his stomach. Gord sucked in on impact, gasping against his lips and feeling his knees buckle.

What was wrong with him? He’d had far more advanced encounters than this, and they hadn’t left him trembling and shaking like this. He felt utterly snowed in by the sheer power of Jimmy’s presence. Lola had made him behave stupidly, sure. Pinky had left him shivery and giddy after a night of champagne, neck rubs, and third base. Even that one kiss this last summer with Bryce in the boat house hadn’t left him dizzy and desperate and _hungry_ like he felt kissing Jimmy fucking Hopkins right now.

Which made it devastating when Jimmy pulled away, breaking their kiss and looking like a lion with his eyes heavy and his lips glistening and bruised. It was strange to realize this was the first time they’d been this close in years. He’d forgotten that his eyes were actually really pretty...a dark caramel brown that was warm, but under constant threat of scorching.

Jimmy leaned in, surprising Gord down to his toes to receive a kiss that was softer and gentler, pressed purposefully over the cut and swelling from his punch. It lingered for a small lifetime, and Gord could feel ragged, bitten nails against his ribs where Jimmy’s hands were still hidden there, his shirt bunched up around his wrists. It was so different and new and oddly sensual that his toes curled in his shoes.

“Jimmy?”

The shorter boy didn’t answer. His hands slid softly and heavily down the bare skin of his sides, tickling and sexy, straight out of one of his mother’s trashy romance novels. They reached his hips, and Gord’s heart skipped a beat and then another as Jimmy began to work at his belt buckle.

“Just shut up, Gord,” Jimmy murmured, and he was charmed to his lust-curled toes to see a flirtatious smile on his face instead of a glare. His heart fluttered dangerously in his chest, his father’s words blaring in his head and reminding him not to catch feelings for someone of a lower station.

But his father never had to watch Jimmy slide slowly down to the ground, his knees popping and his eyes staying firmly locked with his own. His father didn’t have to watch the way Jimmy licked his lips and tugged his pants down a few inches with a playful jerk. 

He was the only one who got to watch Jimmy smirk, lean in, and open his mouth, baring his teeth and ghosting them along the shape of his arousal still trapped in his underwear. It was the most insanely sexy thing Gord had ever seen in his young life, and he could see a small patch of darkness bloom through the fabric as his lust spiked.

Witty one liners and flirtatious come ons that were normally as easy for him as breathing deserted him entirely. All that was left in his mind was flames and an ache so deep he didn’t think he’d ever find it to rip it out.

Jimmy seemed to like what he saw, shifting comfortably to his knees and reaching up with blunt, scarred fingers to peel the band of his underwear down, baring him to the afternoon heat and the world. As they both had expected, he was already slick with precum, and fuck! The sensation of Jimmy rubbing his thumb against the damp skin to watch the faint, glistening strand of moisture trail away was almost too much.

“Hopkins-...” he started, intent to ask him...something. He was not sure. Anything. This was insane and anyone could just round the corner and see them!

The other boy wasn’t listening. He was rising up a little higher on his knees and wrapping his tree trunk like arms around his waist, digging his hands up the back of his shirt.

“ _Jimmy_ ,” he corrected a third time, all smirks and amusement before he leaned in and opened his mouth. 

Gord’s world went red. Scalding heat engulfed him, surrounded him, devoured him. The sound he heard couldn’t be him. He couldn’t sound like that. Not that...that _lost_. His fingers clawed down Jimmy’s head, luxuriating and searching for purchase, and earning another deliciously hot growl from him. At last, he found purchase, gripping the collar of his t-shirt with the tight intensity of someone clinging to a life preserver.

Spike after spike of pleasure assaulted him. It was almost like being punched by him again. Jimmy threw himself into the act of going down on him with the same frenetic intensity he put towards everything else he did. Bike races, fist fights, boxing competitions...Gord very much felt like his orgasm was a trophy to be won. Every steam filled glance up from Jimmy spelled out that adamantine determination that no other love interest had had for him.

And fuck did he love being the center of the universe.

Jimmy seemed to read his mind, eyes glittering with amusement and confidence. He pushed forward, bull headed and stubborn, choking audibly around him. Gord could see tears welling up from the discomfort, but Jimmy only glared and kept going, jerking back a moment later with a cough.

It was messy, but Jimmy didn’t stop. His eyes still a little red, he took him right back into his mouth. Gord clapped a hand over his mouth and let his head tip back against the brick in his want. The ever tightening knot in his stomach pulsed and trembled each time Jimmy plunged forward, his tongue coursing and swirling against his screamingly sensitive skin.

This was filthy. It was dirty and fast and messy and complicated and not in his fucking plan, but the sensation of Jimmy’s nose slightly chilly and nestled in the hair at the base of his cock snapped something inside him. He could hear Jimmy’s name from somewhere, realizing with paralyzing shock that it was _him_. A babbling jumble of keening, desperate words fell from his lips with absolutely no sense of decorum or propriety, but it didn’t fucking _matter_.

“J-Jimmy…” he warned, manicured nails digging into the back of his freckled neck. He was so close. Sweat itched at his skin under his clothes, and every little jerk of his hips threatened to send his weak knees finally collapsing beneath him.

Luckily, Jimmy didn’t hesitate. He pulled back, fisting too tight and too fast at his arousal, while staring up at him the whole time like some sort of dare. He dared him to look away. He dared him to see and acknowledge and to know that he was the one doing this to him.

And Gord lost.

His eyes snapped shut and a loud moan clawed free of his throat as orgasm screamed through his body. Pleasure barreled through him remorseless and ravaging. It was the best goddamned orgasm he’d ever experienced...and it was by a dumpster.

For what felt like hours he panted there against the building, willing his heart to slow down and stop rushing in his ears. At long last his eyes fluttered open, met with the image of Jimmy still on his knees with the remains of his orgasm very slowly dripping down the side of his face.

Shame mixed with interest assaulted him like knives, and Gord opened his mouth to say something, anything, but nothing came out. He just came on his face! Fuck. No. That was just...that was so _rude_. And he was probably going to get another punch to the face!

“Jimmy, I- I’m s-”

Jimmy snorted loudly enough to interrupt him and rolled his eyes in a way that was incredibly pretty. His lips were spread in a triumphant smile.

“Gord, shut up,” he demanded, smile and all, lifting a hand to swipe a bit of it from his cheek before promptly popping it into his mouth to suck clean.

“Wha! _Gross_ , Hopkins!”

“Jimmy!” he corrected a fourth time, smacking Gord’s ass and moving to a stand, though not before snagging his prefect blazer from the ground. It was dirty and wrinkled and had definitely seen better days. Jimmy just side-eyed Gord and smirked, lifting it up and using it to wipe his face clean while Gord watched on in horror.

“There we go. Knew this thing was good for something.”

“How dare you!” Gord squawked, reaching for it and dismayed as Jimmy jumped out of the way of his swipe. It was then that he had to remind himself that he was standing there with his pants still down and on full display. 

His cheeks went fiery in an instant, and Gord abandoned his blazer to hurriedly start righting all of his clothing. It took some effort, but finally he looked decent, if utterly humiliated.

Jimmy just stood there where he hadn’t moved, watching him the whole time with that same hungry, pleased expression on his face. He tossed the soiled jacket over to him, plucking at his own t-shirt instead to cool off. Gord couldn’t help but notice the very obvious outline in the other boy’s jeans.

“Er, would you like a hand with that?” he asked, nodding towards the bulge rather pointedly. Despite his own nerves over trying that for the first time, he still offered a flirtatious smirk. But to his surprise, Jimmy just shook his head, suddenly avoiding his eyes and looking anywhere else while a blush bloomed across his cheeks.

“Nah. I’m good. Gotta go find Borden, right? Detention’s probably out.”

Huh. Gord bit his lip, watching Jimmy start to walk away. He felt...strange. Something ugly and unhappy twisted in his gut, and his father’s words echoed in his head once again, telling him this was fine. This was what he was supposed to do.

But his weak knees and the clinging scent of cheap laundry soap mixed with firecracker residue and, weirdly, rubber bands were leaving him disoriented and clouded and impulsive.

“Please. You owe me dinner, Hopkins. Tomorrow night. If you’re not there I will find you, and end you. Vendomes do _not_ get stood up.”

The breezy tone of his voice hid his anxiety well, and Gord pushed himself from the wall and walked past Jimmy, bumping his shoulder as he went.

“Six o’clock. Flowers wouldn’t hurt.”

As he walked off with the intent to go change clothes he could hear Jimmy’s voice behind his back, full of mirth and sarcasm and the promise of something exciting.

“It’s _Jimmy_.”


End file.
